The Day Dean Winchester Died
by DangerousDiamondDarling
Summary: He could already see the blood pooling on the hard wooden floor. Dean Winchester lived and died and lived again. Very short oneshot one why Dean fought so hard to hold on to life.


_Hey everyone! I'd just like to say that this is my first published Supernatural fic so pretty please be nice. I have a couple more in the writing at the moment but they're not finished. The first two lines of this story just came into my head and everything spiralled from there in one afternoon, so sorry if it sucks but it's just what come to my wacky head. If anyone has been reading my other stories I'd just like to say sorry that it's been like three months since I updated, I've just been really busy and had a loved one die, so sorry about that. Thank you for reading, please R&R!!!!!!!_

_I disclaim!_

_A__nna_

-**_ The Day Dean Winchester Died_** -

He could already see the blood pooling on the hard wooden floor.

It had only been moments but it seemed like it was a lot longer, forever in fact.

The pain should have been breath taking.

But how could it be when he didn't have any breath left to take?

It had only been moments, it seemed like years.

The pain was dulled, like a distant memory, like he was only semi-attached to his body.

He could tell it hurt. It was meant to hurt. It wasn't a dull throb; it was just dulled, like he was in a different reality to his body.

He just couldn't feel it like he should. It was a numb thought in the back of his head, it wasn't blinding pain in the forefront of his mind like he knew it was, and was supposed to be.

He knew that should worry him.

But he couldn't worry about it, he couldn't worry about anything.

He was floating, drifting, fading in this fog, a place some where in between life and death, and he knew he should hold on, fight, cling to the dulled, numbed, pain and never let go.

He knew he should.

The trouble was it was painful, the closer he got the more it hurt, and he had been fighting for so long.

A selfish part of him wanted to drift, keep floating in the fog, let the slight pull he felt take him… but there was something here, amongst this pain, that he fought to keep, something he needed that needed him back, some thing… something.

But he couldn't remember, he was drifting too much, it had still only been seconds but it seemed so, so long ago.

The blood pooled faster now.

Forming in odd patterns across the dust and ash covered dark, cold, hard, unforgiving floor.

And it had been unforgiving.

Moonlight shone through the broken windows, illuminating his draining blood with an ugly red glow.

Trees made strange, moving shadows in the moonlight, leaving some places bathed in unwanted light, showing their repulsive truth to the night, while the rest were hidden in smooth, cool, inviting darkness.

Was he a shadow?

With every thing he did in his life was he just a shadow in the end?

There wasn't anything wrong with the shadows was there? They were enticing, enthralling even, and fascinating in their depth.

But they were unpredictable, hiding many things, unattainable, unsafe… home.

He liked the shadows, they were real, they were something he could hold on to, and had all his life.

There was something else though, something he liked in the shadows, loved even, needed to protect, something… someone.

The moonlight and shadows were weaving light and darkness, illuminating and darkening the pools of blood in front of his eyes.

The pain didn't even seem real any more.

Not even a distant memory he had come to peace with.

Just a vague dream.

Ash and plaster dust were now mixing in the blood.

It was still only seconds since it happened but it seemed like a life time, a life time of blood, horror, darkness and pain, and maybe it was.

But there was something else… someone else… someone with innocence, someone who needed him, someone he had to protect…

But for some reason he couldn't fight the fog his mind was stuck in, couldn't make everything real again, couldn't pull himself back to the pain even thought he needed to.

He needed to come back, had to come back, Sammy needed him to come back…

"SAMMY!"

It was a scream of agony as the world came back in a rush of colours, blood, icy cold breath and blinding pain.

Had it only been seconds? It had seemed like a million years he died.

He died after being stabbed, slashed, and thrown down two stories worth of air, from the attic he and Sammy had been 'salt 'n' burning' the ghost's bones in to the ground floor of the ancient, antique, broken, old hotel house.

He died and was reborn in a world of pain, covered in his own blood, but with his brother at his side.

Dean Winchester lived and died and lived again… and he would do it again in a heart beat…

Because Dean Winchester lived and died and lived again… and he did it all for his brother.

-END-


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